


What Almost Was

by freckledandspectacled



Series: If Only [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 00:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8469019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledandspectacled/pseuds/freckledandspectacled
Summary: Taking place as Butch attacks Ed; what if Oswald and Edward had seized the moment and made a move on each other following Ed's grand gesture and Oswald's epic takedown of Butch?





	

**Author's Note:**

> First fic in a working series of what-ifs that could also be referred to as "Every time this season Ed and Oz should definitely have kissed but didn't".

“Oswald, move!”  
With an almost animalistic noise, Butch Gilzean launches himself forward, his larger frame and brute strength easily bringing down Edward Nygma. His momentum carries them onto the stage of _The Sirens'_ club, which Edward collides with to the accompaniment of a resounding thud. 

 

In an instant Edward’s attention shifts from Oswald- who is clearly no longer in harm’s way, now that Butch has begun asphyxiating Edward instead- to his asphyxiator, who grunts out, “I am gonna enjoy this!”

 

As Butch’s false left hand pushes punishingly hard into the flesh of Edward’s throat, his right sqeezes mercilessly in a method clearly designed to quickly incapacitate and kill (Edward knows this all too well). Edward quickly finds his hold on Butch’s wrists loosening, his eyes closing without permission as he succumbs to unconsciousness.

 

Oswald observes the proceedings in a panic as his second-in-command turned traitor strangles his chief of staff and, arguably, only friend. Panicked noises escape him as he desperately looks for a way to get Butch off of Edward, his gaze draw to the bottle in Barbara Kean’s possession as she proclaims, “Best. Party. Ever!”

 

Snatching the bottle from her hand, he brings it down hard over Butch’s head. Butch collapses heavily on top of Edward, and Oswald moves quickly to shove him off and give Edward room to breathe.

 

“Ed.” Oswald puts his hands on Edward’s chest, his panic only increasing as he realizes that Edward is noticeably not breathing.

 

“Ed?,” Oswald calls, followed quickly by a harsher cry of, “Ed!”. His hands roam across Edward’s chest, to his shoulders, patting, spasming as he screams again, “ED!”

 

Edward finally jerks to life, gasping, coughing, hands flying to his throat as he processes the tremendous pain there. Looking up to see Oswald, he can't help but to bring one hand up to clutch weakly at the lapel of his suit. Oswald’s hands cradle his head and pull him up, one moving behind his neck to support him. The other he feels caress the side of his face. He moves his hand from the instinctual grasp it has made at Oswald’s pristine suit and instead latches onto the wrist of the hand Oswald is currently stroking the side of his face and hair with.

 

Edward almost didn't realize that there was a grin on his own face from the moment he had made eye contact with Oswald, too busy analyzing the micro expressions flitting across Oswald’s face, and completely absorbed with what he was seeing. Fear, anxiety, tentative hope, relief, elation, all culminating in a smile on Oswald’s face. His own face, he realizes, must appear awestruck. If he were a careful observer (which he is) he might even be able to discern love in his own grin.

 

At any other time, with anyone else, he would be disheartened by this perceived weakness. For some reason beyond his comprehension, as he looks up into Oswald’s eyes, he doesn’t feel weak. Not at all. The warm hand holding the back of his neck is a comfort, not a hindrance. Oswald’s hand strokes the side of his face so gently, so carefully; perhaps the adoration he feels towards the man currently cradling him in his arms is not a vulnerability, but a different kind of strength. Not for the first time, he ponders whether they are stronger together than they ever could have been apart.

 

Oswald’s eyes threaten to tear, but he hasn’t allowed such things in front of an audience since passing through a tormented childhood. He can’t believe his luck at having such a friend in his life, who would risk everything for him. Edward had put his life on the line to ensure that not only would Butch’s betrayal be unveiled, and that the man would suffer for the hurt he had caused Oswald, but also that Oswald’s newly minted mayorship would remain untouched by the scandal this could have created. 

 

It was too much to ask for, to even hope for, yet alone have.

 

It wasn’t enough. 

 

Somehow, he feels his relationship with Edward to be lacking the depth, the closeness, the- dare he say it- intimacy he secretly yearns for from his friend. How far did he want it to go, when would he be satisfied with the emotional connection he has with Edward? When would it be enough? Edward had already gone above and beyond, and yet he still wants more. _Selfish_ , he thinks. 

 

They are caught in one another’s orbit, the gravity of their shared feelings dragging them closer (or so it would appear). It would be so easy for one to kiss the other, their faces scant inches from apart as they both eye the seemingly insurmountable distance between them with trepidation. 

 

Together, they move closer, until that previously insurmountable distance is gone. Once again Edward finds his eyes drifting closed against his will, but he prefers this method, lips pressed chastely against Oswald’s. Oswald is already afraid to ask more of him than this, to push Edward down again and press into him when he’d been handled so roughly only moments before.

 

For a moment everything is still, everything quiet as the pair become completely absorbed with one another and increasingly oblivious to the outside world. Edward isn’t sure if he’s concussed or seeing fireworks on the backs of his eyelids from the feeling of Oswald against him. Oswald is burning, growing hot under the collar as his rampant desire demands that he take more, to his endless frustration. He restrains himself, knowing it's too soon, that they'll have time for more, trying to stifle his ambitious nature and accept that this is enough for now. Trying to accept that he can savor the slow burn of desire that's been stewing inside of him since reconnecting with Edward. At the same time, he remains in complete awe that this is truly happening, that Edward is allowing him something as simple as the press of their lips together.

 

Slowly, the two break apart, suddenly aware of the hollering, cat-calling, and the flashes of cameras. Edward pulls Oswald down and moves his face into the crook of his neck as the flashes continue. He is still no fan of being in the limelight, even after weeks of mayoral duties while Oswald attempted to drag him into as many photo ops as possible. He didn't have the same penchant for drama and performance as Oswald, but that could change. Oswald drops his hands from Edward’s face, wrapping his arms around the man still trying pathetically to get out of the shot. Edward has no interest in being breaking news again, not quite yet.

 

“I’m sorry I kissed you here,” Oswald murmurs. “I’m not sorry I kissed you, but I suppose I could have waited for a more appropriate, that is, less public locale. In the heat of the moment, however-”

 

“You don’t regret it, though,” Edward asserts, voice rough as he pulls back to stare at Oswald. His eyes are piercing, hands moving to grasp Oswald’s shoulders, “Now that you mention it though, I was under the impression that I had kissed you, Oswald.”

 

“We could call it a draw,” Oswald ventures.

 

“Perhaps, but then again, I’ve been waiting for you to kiss me since the night of the election.” Well, he'd been wanting to kiss Oswald for longer than that. Feelings of a romantic nature for Oswald had developed (or perhaps merely been noticed for the first time) approximately three months after Oswald began visiting him in Arkham. It wasn't until the night of the election that Edward felt he could possibly deserve to act on those feelings. His de-rigging of the election had been an endeavor to make up for his poor treatment of Oswald during the Penguin’s imprisonment in Arkham, and after his release. 

 

The night of the election had been Edward’s penance; what he did was indeed risky, but it was ultimately worth it to see the look of happiness on Oswald’s face at winning fairly, at gaining the love of the people. It felt like his own victory to have been the orchestrator of such joy, it felt like he could finally be forgiven for abandoning Oswald so many months ago. Even though Oswald had long since forgiven him for his past transgressions, Edward had wanted desperately to make it up to him. Kind words and cheap origami were things he gave even to the other inmates, and Oswald deserved more, deserved better. Having Butch’s gun very briefly pointed at him was a small price, compared to Oswald's forgiveness.

 

“All that time,” Oswald says, grasping one of Edward’s hands and brushing his lips along the knuckles. “I could have had this so much sooner.” Edward takes in a sharp breath at the gentle touch of Oswald's lips on his hand, and then coughs weakly. Oswalds reels him back into his arms, soothing him as best he can while he begins to explain what happened during the brief period of Edward’s unconsciousness. If he happens to minimize his own panicked reaction in its retelling, that’s his business.

 

“My hero,” Edward grates out, and Oswald tightens his hold that much more.

 

Sirens can soon be heard outside of _The Sirens_. A pair of paramedics come in to scoop an unconscious Butch Gilzean off of the floor. Edward and Oswald have not stopped clutching one another, whispered words of devotion and gratitude passing between them as the onlookers slowly filter out into the streets of Gotham. A police officer approaches them for a statement, quickly retreating after a snapped, “Later!” from Oswald.

 

Another ambulance arrives and Oswald insists that Edward is looked at, coaxing Edward’s hands to release their grip around Oswald. They sit on the edge of the stage, Oswald keeping one hand firmly on Edward’s lower back as the medic tilts his head from side to side and examines his neck. She prods around the back of Edward's head and tells him he should go to the hospital at some point to have it looked at.

 

“Later,” Edward croaks. He could have asked anything of Oswald in that moment and been assured that The Penguin would see it done. Oswald stands, taking Edward by the elbow to balance him as he also moves to stand. Oswald reaches for his forgotten cane on the stage, steadying himself with it and then offering his arm to Edward to provide what little support he can as they make their way out to their ride. Edward accepts, and they slowly move towards the Sirens’ entrance, taking great care with one another. The pair of criminals are highly aware of human fragility and mortality in the light of such a close call.

 

“Seems to me that love is in the air tonight,” Alfred muses, clapping a hand on his charge’s shoulder cheerfully before guiding the perpetually gobsmacked Master Wayne out to their own car.

 

Arm in arm, Oswald and Edward walk out onto the streets of Gotham, both shaken, both hurt, and both exponentially stronger together for it.


End file.
